


a second chance at a first impression

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Race For Your Love, Right In Front Of My Eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 20:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17905061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: "Then... kiss me."-a different take on the end of FitzSimmons' argument in 3x08 and their first kiss





	a second chance at a first impression

**Author's Note:**

> I have had a few conversations with people on Tumblr about the first kiss and some other ways it could have gone, and I was inspired by some of those conversations as well as the [marvelfluffbingo](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/post/182855990291/image-description-a-5x5-table-drawn-in-black) to finally create this! It's definitely more of an angst-with-a-happy-ending tone rather than fluff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

_Do you love him?_

Fitz wished he could take back the words. Why had he even asked? He didn’t want to know. He was glad for Jemma’s evasiveness, as much as he wished he hadn’t put her on the spot like that. It had not been his finest, most sensitive moment. After all, it wasn’t like any of this was her fault, or Will’s. Then again, it wasn’t his fault either, and here he was, working into the night long after Jemma had fled the scene of their fight. To fix the problem, as Jemma would say. To save the life of a man that she…

His thoughts trailed off and he wiped the sleep from his eyes with a heavy hand; trying and failing to bring the numbers on the screen back into focus. Great. He couldn’t even get properly riled up about this whole disaster. Of course he couldn’t: a man’s life was at stake – more than that, the whole universe, if they couldn’t find a safer way to get him back - and Fitz didn’t have the heart for a petty feud over Jemma’s love in the face of that knowledge. Especially not at this hour of the morning. He was not really angry, he _couldn’t_ be angry. He couldn’t be angry at a man for simply existing, for having the downright hellish bad luck to end up on that planet when he did, or for – apparently – falling in love. (And with Jemma, no less.)

No, Fitz knew, he wasn’t angry. He was just… tired. _So tired._ The cosmos seemed to enjoy mocking him, dangling everything his heart desired in front of his face and then snatching it away at the last minute, and then drenching him in guilt every time he dared to feel entitled to an ounce of indignity about it all. He was so _tired_ of matters of the heart. No wonder there were so many cynics in this world. 

And yet, he had asked. 

He had asked, and he had watched with baited breath as his question had landed. He could remember even now feeling his heart lift when he had realised that the expression on Jemma’s face, just for a moment, had been confusion. He remembered that it had given him hope, dreadful hope, and so help him that hope just wouldn’t die. He knew Jemma too well not to recognise her evasiveness for what it was. 

 _“I-“_ she had stammered, thrown. _“I mean, yes. No. Maybe. It doesn’t matter now, does it? There’s nothing can be done.”_

How very Jemma. 

How very how Jemma faced the intractable problems in her life. 

She had always been so practical, a problem-solver, and he’d always loved that about her - well, at least, he loved it most of the time. It gave her the strength to make the tough decisions, keep a clear head in times of panic, set her heart and mind on things and do whatever it took to achieve them. For better or worse, a sure-fire Jemma was a force to be reckoned with. It was a useful trait in a spy… and in a friend, or dare he say it, a partner. She was protective, sometimes to the point of ruthlessness, and she was always willing to push him out of his comfort zone, and get him to do things that were good for him even when he didn’t feel it at the time. And she was always, _always,_ trying to help. That was what it all came down to, really. She put her feelings second to the problem at hand, because no matter what they were, they wouldn’t get the job done. 

As much as Fitz hated that sometimes – and as much as he himself tended to prefer a good old-fashioned wallowing - he had to admit that Jemma was right. Love or no love, grief or no grief, fault or no fault; waxing lyrical about what she and Will were or were not to each other – or what she and Fitz might or might not have been – wouldn’t solve the problem. It wouldn’t save Will. It wouldn’t defeat Hive. It wouldn’t lead to anything, especially when she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and Fitz had no way of knowing when that would change. In Jemma’s own words, it seemed, there was nothing to be done. 

Which brought Fitz back to the problem at hand. The computer screen blurred, numbers and letters swimming before his eyes so that he could hardly tell anymore which was which. Perhaps it was his recent epiphany talking, or perhaps just the sheer exhaustion that had him absentmindedly swaying like a drunk as he pondered his options, but serendipitously it seemed there was nothing more to be done here, either. Not in this state, at least, and not while his most recent set of algorithms ran their course. Maybe he should take one more leaf out of Jemma’s book tonight, he thought, and address the problem within his control. Slowly but surely, he began to gather his things. They always had found a place to agree on the amazing healing power of sleep.

-

Meanwhile, Jemma laid in her bed for the nth hour and stared up at the roof. Her limbs felt heavy as her body begged for rest; still weak from its ordeal on Maveth, not to mention the long day, and now the fight with Fitz. She played the end of their argument over and over in her mind, which was as exhausted as her body, and yet, seemed to be spinning so fast that she felt a little dizzy.

_Do you love him?_

Every pained intonation of his voice tortured her. 

 _I – I mean yes, no, maybe. It doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing can be done._

There was nothing more to do. Fitz’s heart was broken. Will was gone, unless they could find a way to get him back that did not entail risking half the universe to Hive. And she herself, well… she had swallowed the words down and now the time had passed and she could not go back to that moment and speak them.

_I love **you.**_

Those were the words that had come to her tongue without a second thought. It would have been just that simple, just to speak them, and it was not as though it was news to either of them. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d grabbed Fitz’s hand and made a hesitant promise. _Maybe there is._ Yet, she’d spent that whole intervening lifetime trying to get back to him, to that moment, to that promise. And now it had finally arrived and she had run away and hid from it like a coward. 

Why had she done that? 

Why did she _always_ do that? 

Fitz, now, he was the bold one, and even though that meant he could be a stubborn ass when he wanted to – which was often, she had to admit – Jemma had always admired his ability to trust his own feelings. Fitz had a strong sense of intuition, of passion, and he poured so much of it into his work and into the lives of the people he loved. He felt everything so deeply, the good and the bad, but he always knew what he felt, or what he felt was right, and he was not afraid to go after it. Oh, how Jemma wished she had his sense of self. Yet here she was instead, picking apart her every thought, and then every thought she had about that thought, as if what she felt alone was not to be trusted.

_Do you love him?_

There had been such pain in his voice. In his eyes. What kind of dreams, she wondered, was he watching shatter? How many futures had he imagined for the two of them, after she’d made sure that door was lodged firmly open, and why did her heart still yearn to hear him tell her about every single one of those futures? She could imagine it when she closed her eyes, even now: the two of them outside under the stars, Fitz stroking her hair and regaling her with all his romantical tales as if they had all the time in the world. Maybe he would describe that special evening he’d had planned. Maybe he would describe their life together as he imagined it would be in five, ten, twenty, fifty years. The two of them, growing old, together. _The whole damn time._ No doubt he remembered those words, those specific words, as she did. A revelation like that didn’t happen every day. And he’d smile at her when he said them, that little twinkle in his eye because he _knew,_ and her heart would flutter and she would know too – 

Love. That was love.

Once upon a time she would have wondered if that were really true. She would have told herself, it was joy, and joy and love are not always the same. She would have said, it was contentment from doing an activity she loved with a person for whom she cared deeply. She would have said, it was the beauty of their incredibly close friendship, that they wished to be together so much. None of those things were to be sneezed at, of course, but they did not necessarily mean that she was in love.

But what the Jemma of once upon a time did not know – or at least, had somehow managed to overlook – was that those things did not mean that she was _not_ in love. What was love after all, but a choice to act on feelings of joy, and trust, and care, and togetherness? If she had her way, there’d probably be a touch more kissing and the like, but other than that… 

She was not sure if what she had felt for Will was love. Not in the way that Fitz meant it, at least; that deep and abiding romantic love that could move mountains and change lives if not worlds. But she knew that was what she felt for Fitz. She had crossed that line, made that choice, a long time ago and she was not about to turn her back on it. On him. She had known what she was doing when she had grabbed his hand before all this mess – at least, she had known as much as anyone could – and she had bared her heart to him and now…

Now she had, what, made him think she had forgotten all that? Made him think that, because of Will, what they’d had meant nothing? 

 _There’s nothing to be done,_ she had told him. And about Will, maybe there wasn’t, but about Fitz? He was still here and she wasn’t too late. She was determined not to be too late, this time. Her exhausted limbs screamed in protest – they had been getting so used to this wonderful rest – but she was driven by a desperation so strong that even she was not sure she wasn’t at least a little delirious.

 _Maybe there is._ Stumbling through the hallway back toward the lab, Jemma reminded herself of how she’d made her last confession on the dawn of war. And before that, Fitz had made his at the bottom of the ocean. They were always getting ripped apart. The both of them were terrible at follow through, and it was easy to excuse in their busy lives; a world that always needed saving provided a constant stream of very important interruptions. Not this time, Jemma promised herself. She’d spent six months swearing that if it was the last thing she ever did she would make sure Fitz knew how she felt and so help her, that’s what she was going to do. 

Her bare feet felt strange on the cold concrete floor, and her lungs heavy as her exhausted body struggled to carry her uncooperative mind. If she had not walked these floors so many times before, she may have gotten lost in her exhaustion, but as it was, she knew where the lab was with the unspoken instinct of a homing pigeon. Or perhaps it was just that she knew where Fitz was, because it didn’t occur to her until she was almost at the door that he might not actually be there at this hour. 

But there he was. 

-

“Fitz.” 

He had just slung his bag over his shoulder, already half-asleep and dreaming of his mattress, when he heard her voice. He was mid-stride toward the door and he froze in place. He looked up, to see the door swing open, and to see a pale and haggard Jemma clinging to the doorframe with steely determination. His heart quickened, and he dropped his bag and ran to help her. 

“Jemma? Are you okay?” 

“Yes!” she insisted, batting him away clumsily. “Yes. I’m fine. I just- I had to tell you – “ 

She paused a moment, because he’d come so close to try and help her and she was stuck in the doorway with the whole hall behind her. If she wanted to take a step back – hell, if she wanted to turn and run until her knees collapsed on her – she could. And yet, she couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be than in this very doorway with an anxious, curious, flustered Fitz and his softly parted lips and his lamb-like hair, all precious few inches from her face. She was really doing this. 

Okay, so she may have been a little delirious with exhaustion, but she smiled. She reached out from the doorframe with one hand, and intertwined her fingers with his. Slowly. Deliberately. With a great deal of concentration. 

“Jemma, what-“ Fitz wondered, doing his best to stave off that dangerous hope. “What’s this supposed to mean?” 

“I just had to tell you,” Jemma repeated. “There is. _There is._ No maybe.” 

 _“What?”_ Fitz repeated, barely louder than a breath. His heart suddenly seemed too loud. Was he hearing her right? “I’m so tired. Am I hallucinating?” 

“No.” 

Shakily, Jemma stepped away from the doorframe. She pulled herself toward Fitz with the hands they had already joined, and with her other hand, she gently stroked the stubble that lined his cheekbones. So much had changed between them, and she could hardly believe what a wonderful man he was blossoming into – in mind, body, and soul. And maybe this was what it felt like when Fitz made a decision, maybe it always felt this good to be this certain, but somehow, Jemma doubted it. 

“I love you, Fitz,” she said. “That’s what I had to tell you. No matter what else is going on, I love you, and I know we can get through this better together. I’m- I’m so sorry if I’ve blown my chance or if I’ve missed my boat, or if I ever made you think that what was between us was over… or that there never was anything between us after all… I never meant that. I was just scared. I’m not scared any more.”

“You’re not just saying this because I’m helping Will, are you?” Fitz checked. “Because I’d do that anyway, and you don’t owe me –“ 

“No,” Jemma promised. “This isn’t about Will.” 

“And you’re not saying any of this because you feel bad? About what you said before, about going for dinner and all that?” 

“No,” Jemma promised, shaking her head. “Fitz. I’m saying this because I feel _good_ about what I said before. I want dinner, I want all of it. That is, if you still… want… me.” 

There passed a terrible span of seconds in which Jemma realised that she was, in fact, still very scared. She was mortified. The exhaustion had done wonders to mute the fear but now the nerves were raw and here she was suddenly realising she’d poured her heart out to Fitz again immediately after telling him that she might actually be in love with another man. What had she expected him to do with that information? Why had this ever seemed like a good idea? 

“Jemma,” Fitz breathed. 

Jemma still couldn’t bring herself to retreat to the doorway. She was deep in it now, and Fitz had cupped her hand so tenderly where it lay on his cheek, and gently nuzzled into it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if cherishing the feeling, and Jemma’s heart leapt into ther throat. This was it, she thought, this must be the part where he would let her down, and he would do it with such softness and grace… 

Only, what he said was; 

“Of _course_ I still want you.” 

The stress slipped out in the form of a laugh as relief washed over her. “What?”

“I love you, Jemma,” Fitz said - breathlessly, with years’ worth of passion and impossible hope behind his words. He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her gently just a little closer, as if they were about to slow-dance right there in the middle of the lab. “I love you so much, and there is nothing I want more in this world right now than you.”

“Then… kiss me,” Jemma offered. 

“Really?” 

His eyes lit up, and Jemma grinned. 

“Yes! Come on, I know you want to.” 

Fitz was only too happy to oblige, and his lips met hers with such passion that she stumbled back a few steps, but she tangled her fingers in his hair at the same time so that he had no choice but to follow. They weaved backward in a kiss-drunken waltz until Jemma’s back bumped into the doorframe again and they both fell out of the kiss, giddy and laughing.

“Sorry,” Fitz said, blushing at how flushed Jemma suddenly looked. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. Guess it got away from me a bit.” 

“Don’t apologise,” Jemma told him. “But if you really want to, we can always try again.”

Her hand still in his hair, Jemma leaned up slightly on her toes. She smiled, mischief and a smug sort of joy on her lips, as she felt his arms wrap around her again and slowly pressed their lips together. This time it was an easy, gentle movement. The jitters and nerves of the first kiss had passed and what remained was nothing but the tenderness beneath.

Well, that and the exhaustion.

Jemma laughed and shook her head as Fitz finally put his hands on her hips and nudged her away, breaking the kiss to contort his face like a roaring lion. 

“Are you… yawning?” 

“It’s almost four in the morning, Jemma,” he explained, bleary-eyed. “I promise, love you with my whole heart, but a man’s got to sleep.” 

“Oh. Well in that case, do you want to come to bed?” 

“I’m _serious,_ Jemma.”

“ _To sleep,”_ Jemma assured him. “I’m with you on that. I’m so tired I’m scared I’ll fall over the second I let go of you.” 

“Don’t let go, then,” Fitz reasoned. “Here, I’ll carry you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely. I do push-ups now.” 

“Oh, well in that case –“ 

Jemma kicked up her legs and Fitz caught them, as promised, and carried her bridal-style out of the lab and toward her bedroom. After a near-miss between her head and the doorframe, she was only too happy to drape herself dramatically backward, throw an arm around Fitz’s neck, and treasure the moment. It would not be long before reality came kicking the door down again, she was sure, but for now, morning was coming, and she was cradled in the arms of her best friend. Her boyfriend? Her Fitz, anyway. And if she’d learnt anything these last few months without him, it was that she knew better than to take a single second of their togetherness for granted.

That, and she was going to have to fight him for the position of Big Spoon with everything she had. 


End file.
